Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II (22 page)

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Authors: Jack Canfield,Mark Victor Hansen,Kimberly Kirberger

BOOK: Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II
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Page 66
hospitals. The walls are a soft shade of light green, with cheerful wallpaper borders. The window reveals a full view of the parking lot and spring sky. My mother and her father stand at either sides of the bed, looking down at Aunt Catherine. My uncle holds one of her hands as she sleeps, his thumb moving in tiny circles along her smooth skin. They look up as we come in. My mother puts a finger to her lips, motioning for us to be quiet. Catherine opens her eyes and says Hope's name in greeting. Her voice sounds hoarse and deep. I look over at her new I.V. machine and read the label. Morphine.
Moments later the doctor comes in and my mom and I go to down to the cafeteria. After getting our dinner, we find a clean white table off in the corner.
"It's horrible," she says, looking at me. "They opened her up to see how much cancer there was and remove it. It was everywhere. Everywhere," she reiterates, as she loses most of her composure. Her clinical poker face is gone, and her eyes are filled with something I haven't seen before: uncertainty and anguish. "It spread so fast," she half whispers, "they had to remove everything. Her ovaries, womb, fallopian tubes, everything. The cancer is well beyond the second stage. They couldn't get it all out. Even with chemo, they can't. . . ." Her voice fades as she looks over at me, knowing that she's probably said too much. Her eyes tear and she dabs at them with a napkin. I am dazed.
Why did you have to tell me?
I wonder.
The room is dark when we come back and the air is thick, hanging around us like a fog. "Let's go," Hope says, taking my arm and handing me my jacket. Her keys jiggle as she slips the key ring around her finger.
My mom looks at her with concern. "Why don't you go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat? Here." She hands her a twenty.
"I'm not hungry," Hope mumbles, pushing past me

 

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through the door and pressing the twenty into my palm.
"Shawna, I think I'm going to stay here tonight. Why don't you stay over at Hope's? Get her to eat something, will you?"
"Sure, Mom. See you tomorrow," I reply, kissing her on the cheek.
She drives mechanically, her eyes glued to the road. Silence hangs in the air. I flip the radio to the local rock station and put the volume on low. I see a McDonald's along the road. "Hey, why don't we get something to eat? You haven't had anything yet. You know, you just can't starve yourself. You need to eat."
"What is your problem?" she says, her voice with an edge. "Why don't you just stop worrying about me and mind your own business? I'm fine, okay? I knew what to expect and I'm fine. Why can't you people just quit worrying and nagging all the time?!"
"Look, Hope, I was just trying to get you to . . . " She reaches out and turns the radio up.
"It's my favorite song," she yells over the music. She hates Prodigy.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
Her hands don't seem to be working as she tries to slip the key into the door. I gently take them away from her and jiggle the lock. The door swings open. She goes to the bathroom while I fix her a turkey sandwich and orange slices in the kitchen. I hear the TV go on in the living room. She flips it to Comedy Central as I walk in.
"Here," I say, pushing the plate across the coffee table toward her. She takes a bite and looks at me with her are-you-happy-now? look. I can't help but smile.
The comic on TV is horrible and tells one bad joke after another. She laughs a little too hard at them. But by the time the second comic comes on, Hope is dozing.
"C'mon," I say, pulling her to her feet. "Let's go to bed.

 

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I'm tired, too." She hands me some pajamas and I take my spare toothbrush out of its little holder in the medicine cabinet. She beats me to the bathroom and by the time I'm done, she's already curled up under the covers. I roll out my sleeping bag on the floor underneath her. If I look up I can see her sleeping and the clock on the opposite dresser. I steal a pillow and try to sleep. I check the clock and see that Hope isn't sleeping. She's staring straight ahead, her eyes wide open.
"Hope?" I say, trying to get comfortable.
"What?"
"Good night."
"Night, Shawna, you moron," she says. "Now go to sleep and quit waking me up." She closes her eyes. Within a few minutes, she gets out of bed. Another bad joke is heard coming from the living room.
<><><><><><><><><><><><>
I buy Hope a turkey sandwich and a bag of chips for myself and start down the hill. She's waiting in our spot. I hand her the sandwich and sit down. The events of the last twenty-four hours play over in my mind. Aunt Catherine started chemotherapy a week after surgery. Yesterday afternoon she was readmitted as she went into remission. She was doing fine, except for the nausea that comes with chemo. She had even amassed a collection of wigs and could go from brunette to blonde in minutes.
My mom told me this morning that the cancer missed the kidney but was growing now on her liver. Doctors can take out a kidney, but livers they can do nothing about. It took us all by surprise. I was still in aftershock. Hope tried her best to act like she knew it would happen and that it didn't bother her. But I could tell how much pain she was feeling by the way her eyes glazed and the fact that she couldn't remember her locker combination or count her

 

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money while we waited in line for the sandwich.
And yet she sits there, taking slow bites of her sandwich while I crunch away at my Sun Chips. The sun is brighter now, as the school year winds down. The beams seem to play with the shadows on her curved cheeks and catch, ever so slightly, on those chocolate pupils. She stares off into space, trying to look cold, but I can see that she is fighting back her fears. All I think is how it shouldn't have to be this way, no one saying anything. I find myself wishing that I could tell her how I feel, that I love her. Instead I move closer to her and sit right next to her. She doesn't even glance in my direction.
"Hope?" I say looking at her.
"What?"
"I just . . .  look, Hope, it's . . . " I look into her eyes and watch as a tear runs down her cheek.
"So do you think she'll be all right?" she asks, cutting me off, her eyes pleading for reassurance. I can't think of a thing to say, and this time I don't have to. I hold her in my arms as she begins to sob, and Hope finally lets go.
Shawna Singh

 

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I Need You Now
My friend, I need you now 
Please take me by the hand. 
Stand by me in my hour of need, 
Take time to understand.
Take my hand, dear friend, 
And lead me from this place. 
Chase away my doubts and fears, 
Wipe the tears from off my face.
Friend, I cannot stand alone. 
I need your hand to hold, 
The warmth of your gentle touch 
In my world that's grown so cold.
Please be a friend to me 
And hold me day by day. 
Because with your loving hand in mine, 
I know we'll find the way.
Becky Tucker

 

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Choices
Hold a friend's hand through times of trial,
Let her find love through a hug and a smile;
But also know when it is time to let go
For each and every one of us must learn to grow.
Sharon A. Heilbrunn
When I first met Molly, she instantly became my best friend. We enjoyed the same things, laughed at the same jokes and even had the same love for sunflowers.
It seemed like we had found each other at the right time. Both of us had been in different groups of friends that didn't get along or we didn't feel comfortable in. We were thrilled to find each other.
Our friendship grew very strong. Our families became friends, and everyone knew that wherever you found Molly, you found me, and vice versa. In fifth grade, we were not in the same class, but at lunch we both sat in nearby assigned seats and turned around to talk to each other. The lunch ladies did not like this. We were always blocking the aisle, talking too loudly and not eating our lunches, but we didn't care. The teachers

 

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knew we were best friends, but we were also a disturbance. Our big mouths got us into trouble, and we were warned that we would never be in the same classes again if we kept this up.
That summer, Molly and her brother were at my house quite often. My mom took care of them while their mom worked. We went swimming, played outside and practiced playing our flutes. We bought best-friend charms and made sure to wear them as often as possible.
Summer went by very quickly, and middle school began. As the teachers had warned us, we were not in the same classes. We still talked on the phone, went over to each other's houses, sang in choir and practiced our flutes together in band. Nothing could destroy this friendship.
Seventh grade started and, again, we were not in the same classes and could not sit near each other at lunch. It seemed as if we were being put to a test. We both made new friends. Molly started to hang out with a new group of people and was growing very popular.
We spent less time together, and we rarely talked on the phone. At school, I would try to talk to her, but she would just ignore me. When we did take a minute to talk, one of her more popular friends would come up and Molly would just walk away with her, leaving me in the dust. It hurt.
I was so confused. I'm sure she didn't know at the time how badly I felt, but how could I talk to her if she wouldn't listen? I began to hang around with my new friends, but it just wasn't the same. I met Erin, who was also a friend of Molly's. She was in the same situation I was with Molly. She and Molly had been close friends, and lately Molly had been treating Erin the same way as me. We decided to talk to her.
The phone call was not easy. Talking and saying how I felt was difficult. I was so afraid that I would hurt her feelings and make her angry. It was funny, thoughwhen it

 

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was just the two of us talking on the phone, we were friends again. It was the old Molly.
I explained how I was feeling, and she did, too. I realized I was not the only one hurting. She was alone without me to talk to. What was she supposed to do, not make new friends? I didn't think about this before, but she was feeling left out by me and my new friends. There were times when I didn't even notice I was ignoring her. We must have talked for a long time, because once we were finished I had used a handful of tissues for my tears, and felt as if I had lifted a heavy weight off my heart. We both decided that we wanted to be with our new friends, but we would never forget the fun and friendship we had shared with each other.
Today, I look back on all of this and smile. Molly and I are finally in the same classes, and you know what? We still get in trouble for talking too loudly. Molly is not my best friend anymore, but more like my sister. We still enjoy the same things, laugh at the same jokes and share the same love for sunflowers. I will never forget her. Molly taught me something very important. She taught me that things change, people change, and it doesn't mean you forget the past or try to cover it up. It simply means that you move on, and treasure all the memories.
Alicia M. Boxler

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